


To Love A Broken Man (Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader)

by EastOfStrawberry



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, arthur morgan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 18:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17027835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EastOfStrawberry/pseuds/EastOfStrawberry
Summary: Summary: Arthur Morgan had sworn off love, but a chance encounter with a sweet school teacher just might change that.Genre: Fluff, Romance, Very Light Angst





	To Love A Broken Man (Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader)

Amongst the vast fields and running streams that raced with an ever-changing current, sat the Van der Linde gang’s campsite. If it weren’t for the butcher's offer of a rather large sum of money in return for fresh Venison, Arthur might not have given the ghost town a second thought. A gang of outlaws had blown through the town like a tumbleweed, robbing, looting and shooting whoever had got in their way, and unfortunately for the butcher, their meat supplier had been killed just at the cusp of deer hunting season.

Counting the dollar bills as he waded through the tall grass, Arthur felt as though maybe things around these parts weren’t quite as awful as he thought. Amidst the rolling hills, not too far from the outlaws hideaway, and rather close to town, was home to the quaint schoolhouse were the small children played at nooning. It had nearly frozen him dead in his tracks - children's laughter was a sound he felt as though he hadn’t heard in years, seeing as Jack didn’t have much of a reason to laugh or be happy these days.

The wooden panels of the worn down schoolhouse were in desperate need of paint, and the slates that covered the roof like scales would surely blow off with a strong gust of wind.  
The rhythmic thud of a hammer against the head of the nail pulled Arthur’s attention down from the rooftop to the tiny porch; twisted in a rather uncomfortable position to avoid any stray bypassers from seeing up the skirt of their dress, a few nails cradled in their lap and another placed between pinched lips, sat a young woman working away at the old school house.

“Miss y/n, will you come play with us now?” one of the little girls whined as she leaned against the side of the tiny building. By the look of determination on your face, Arthur had a feeling you weren’t near finishing anytime soon.

“Miss!” another called, practically kicking open the door which smacked into your side. “The water pail is empty ‘gain”  
Dropping your head in defeat, mid-swing of the hammer, you scooted off the stair after collecting the pile of nails and setting them aside.

“Alright Annie, I’ll go fill it up. Please go play while you have the time, I just know you’re going to be wired during class. Do burn that energy now, won’t you?” you asked the rambunctious student before giving her a small pat on the crown of her head.

“Alright miss, but my toes are starting to feel frosty,” she warned before joining the other girls in a fun game of chase.

Carrying the pail to the old water pump just a little ways from the schoolhouse, you struggled to readjust the wool shawl draped around your shoulders. A small gasp escaped your lips as a cold gust of wind caught your shawl in its current, and carried it with it - the universe seemed to be actively working against you on most days, and today was one of those lousy days. Defeat washed over you as it was too far gone now, as it would take you too far away from the girls at play.  
With numb fingers, you struggled to push down on the metal pump. Pausing for a moment, you rubbed your hands together desperately trying to create some sort of heat from the friction but it was to no avail.

“Ma’am I think this might be yours.” a gruff voice said, causing you to straighten up in your spot.

There he stood, tall and brooding like a mountain that silently existed on the horizon line, Arthur Morgan held onto the shawl that had been stolen from you by the wind. You were taken aback by his presence - the faint lines that creased around his eyes paid tribute to his age, just as the sunken spots beneath those very same eyes showed the sleepless nights and gruelling days that he endured day in and day out. His hair collected at the nape of his neck, moving back and forth with the breeze. A pale, raised scar branded his chin, pulling your eyes to it almost instantly - you wondered what story there was lying behind it.

“Oh my!” you exclaimed, grasping the woolly fabric between your nearly shaking fingers. 

“Thank you, I thought it was gone forever. Thank you very, very much, Mr…” you trailed off, looking to him for a name as it only dawned on you now that neither of you had introduced yourselves.

“Arthur Morgan.” he greeted, his tongue ran across his bottom lip as they had become rather dry in the cold, fast approaching winter air.

Just as a wolf may lurk amongst a flock of sheep, the outlaw found himself in a world he didn’t belong in. He had been a man of dishonourable faith - a stubborn loyalty to a life that left him with blood on his hands and a heavy heart. You were a woman with a kindness in your eyes, a gentleness to your touch - something he craved the moment your fingers had grazed his when accepting the recovered shawl. He had fought the lingering feelings of allure that had plagued him after the two of you parted your ways, he desperately tried to wash away the lasting impression of your fingerprints, even if it had only been a moment’s touch. He tried to get lost in the recoil of his shotgun as he took out a buck or doe, but alas he couldn’t seem to shake you from his mind.

He drew you amongst the rabbits and daisies that hid amongst the pages of his journal, with a delicate pressure of his pencil to the page, never too hard but it was always just enough to make the lines feathery as he drew the curve of your cheek and the arch of your brow.

As the weeks went on Arthur found himself by the water pump, nearly every time after making his rounds to the butcher shop, helping you carry the heavy bucket filled to the brim with cold water, making conversation with you, and most of all, keeping you sane during the hectic day.

The schoolgirls loved to pester him with questions, asking about being a cowboy and why his horse had “hairy feet”. He led them on brigades to find toads at nooning although the winter put them into hiding, although they were hellbent on finding the legendary “snow toad” that didn’t exist - he hadn’t the heart to tell them.

A testament to his honourable nature, Arthur had rounded up the gang and put them to work. Javier and John worked away at the schoolhouse roof, whilst Charles helped Arthur with some much-needed repairs to the inside of the structure. Abigail and Tilly helped apply a fresh coat of paint to the walls, and even little Jack decided to pitch in by collecting wildflowers to place in the vase that had been collecting dust on your desk. The gesture had brought you to tears, leaving you even more in love than you knew your soul was capable of.

By spring you were both enamoured with one another, thought either of you was far too bashful to admit it. Perhaps it was the loneliness that you both harboured that had brought you together. It was stolen glances, and hushed whispers behind the schoolhouse, and if only you could bring yourself to tell him how desperately you wanted to simply be close to him.

“Arthur! Arthur!” The girls squealed once they caught sight of him, trotting up the dirt road just as they were let out for nooning. Stampeding toward him with clear determination, Arthur cooed words of calm to his horse before stepping down from the saddle.

“Easy girls, you don’t want to spook the horse.” Arthur laughed as they circled him, grabbing at his sleeves and arms once his feet touched the ground. “You should be lawmen, my lord. You swarm faster than flies to horse shi-uh never mind that, what are you young ladies up to today?”

“Mathematics and our penmanship,” Mary explained, with her chin held high. “Wanna see it, Mr Arthur?”

“I’m sure Miss Y/N’s busy, we should just leave her be.” He said, despite not having much of a choice in the matter as they dragged and pushed him toward the schoolhouse.

“Oh she won’t mind, she talks about you all the time.” Another girl explained as she pulled him by the thumb.

“She talks about me?” Arthur asked, bewildered by the sudden statement.

“Miss y/n said you have a handsome smile, oh! Pretty eyes too!” Clara cut in with a silly look on her face as the students giggled. 

“She thinks they’re pretty?” Arthur asked under his breath as he scratched the five o’clock shadow brewing along his jaw and cheeks, before being shoved through the threshold of the classroom.  
Taking a bite out of the crisp apple that one of your students had brought to you that morning, you flipped through the pages of your prized copy of “Mary Straut”, eyes glued to the words as you tried to visualize the performance in your head. You were enjoying the quiet time you had while your student’s played, and if you weren’t so engrossed by the story in your hands you might’ve found the sudden clunk of several feet bounding up the steps.

“Oh Miss-sss,” the girls sang in a sing-song voice as they danced into the class. “We brought you a special surprise.”

“Is it another slug?” you mused without even glancing up, though you were sure they were up to no good. “I told you not to bring them inside anymore, they need moisture otherwise they dry out.”

“Hopefully you don’t mistake me for a slug,” Arthur said, letting out a gruff laugh as he took off his hat whilst straightening up.  
With wide eyes, and your mouth ajar, as you were just about to take another bite of your apple, you looked up to see just who was standing before you.

“Arthur,” you breathed, getting to your feet rather abruptly. “Hi, hello. I wasn’t- I wasn’t expecting you.”  
Flustered by his presence, you managed to bump into one of the desks, creating a rather loud squeak, which of course made the girls giggle. Smoothing out the creases of your dress, you made your way toward him.

“Sorry for interrupting, but the girls sorta ambushed me...something about wanting to show me some penmanship?” Arthur explained, before sucking his tongue to his teeth, praying they didn’t have anything stuck between them.

“Oh, I see how it is ladies, penmanship is no fun until Arthur’s around.” you teased the girls with a raised brow, placing a hand on your hip, you returned your gaze back to him. “Well, seeing that you only have an hour to play outside, so I think you shouldn’t waste it pestering poor Mr Morgan.”  
Just as Annie was about to protest, her eyes seemed to wander toward the window where the horse grazed.

“Let’s go see Clyde!” she exclaimed, pumping her fist in the air. The hem of your skirt swayed as the sea of children created a draft of wind as they bolted back outside.

“They have the attention span of a fly.” you laughed, shaking your head and clasping your hands together, folding them around one another with a nervousness you hoped wasn’t too noticeable. “What brings you here today? Interested in freshening up your penmanship?”

“Nah, I just came by...came by to see you actually,” Arthur admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “I wanted to ask you...well, you see I wanted to ask if you…” he stammered, as your brows tilted up with sympathy. “I was wondering if perhaps you’d like to go on a walk through Saint-Denis together, I heard there are these real’ interesting shows at the theatre. Unless you’ve uh, you’ve got someone. I’m sure a smart, pretty woman like yourself must have a whole line up of suitors...er not that women need to be married or nothing like that, I just....”

“Yes,” you interrupted his ramble. “Yes, I would love to. I would absolutely love to, Arthur.”  
His mouth hung open for a moment, unable to comprehend or fathom that you had actually accepted his offer.

“Yeah?” he asked, with hopeful eyes. “Alright, well, we can go in the morning, how about Sunday? I’ll buy the tickets and everything.”

“Perfect.” you beamed, taking your lip between your teeth as you gave him an eager nod. “I look forward to it.”

The howl of the train whistle signalled it’s passengers that they were leaving the station. Tucked away in the back of one of the train cars, you and Arthur sat quite snuggly next to one another. The lilac fabric of your finest dress slightly draped over his knee, as the two of you began to chat as the hills rolled by outside the window in a blur whilst the train chugged along the chat.

“This route looks very different in the day, I hadn’t noticed that tree when I came this way during the night. Funny how things can change in the light,” you commented, turning back in your seat to face Arthur.

“Now what were you up to on the train so late at night?” he mused, hesitantly letting his hand meet yours where your legs touched together. “You got some sort double life you been hiding after all this time?”

“Oh, nothing like that.” you laughed, bowing your head before meeting his teasing eyes. “I, well I left home actually. You see my parents began to worry I may never marry, seeing as my sisters were both freshly seventeen by the time they were married, and well I wasn’t very social or interested in marrying one of the cruel men my father had picked out from a list of employers or business partners. It was never about love to them; the only thing that mattered was social status and money. As silly as it sounds, I guess I’ve always secretly dreamed of finding love...to live an adventurous life with someone who doesn’t just see me as their wife but their friend.”

“You talk like you ain’t got much time left,” Arthur said with a tenderness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “God, you got your whole life in front of you. You must have plenty of worthy men after your heart.” 

“None worthy.” You sighed, chewing on your bottom lip. If the universe was good at one thing, it was being cruel and that’s exactly what Arthur Morgan was being subjected to as he felt every fibre of his being surrender to the curve of your lips as it escaped from between your teeth - a breathy laugh slipping through as you avoided his gaze, only slowly did you raise your leer up to his. “None in comparison to you, Mr Morgan.”

“I ain’t a good man,” he breathed, tearing away from your gaze. “Really, I ain’t.”

“I wish you could see even a sliver of the man that I see,” you said softly, desperately trying to get through to him. Taking his hands in yours, very gently you pulled him to face you with a warm smile pulling at the corners of your mouth. “Because I see a great man, scars and all.”  
Your fingertips were cool to the touch as you dragged the pad of your thumb over the raised scar on his chin - he could swear by the feeling you left that your touch was healing.

There was hesitation in his touch as he cupped your face behind the theatre, his bottom lip tracing yours slowly as your hands clutched at the fabric of his shirt. He was afraid at first, the thought of allowing someone back into his heart.

“I’m sorry.” he breathed, swallowing roughly as his eyes remained shut and his forehead pressed to yours. “I shouldn’t-shouldn’t do this to you. I won’t.”

“What’s wrong?” you asked in a whisper, your hands clasped together against his chest. “Please, I want this, Arthur. I want you.”

“God, I want you too.” he purred, fighting himself not to just merely graze your lips again. “You make living in that awful town worth every second,” you admitted, feeling as though you were about to lose him. 

“Please Arthur, please don’t push me away. I know you’re hurting, I do. I can see it in your eyes, I can feel it in your touch. Let yourself be happy. You deserve happiness.”

He stared at you long and hard, taken by the way the moon had been caught in the iris of your eyes. His kisses were bitter from the smoke of his cigarettes, and his fingers were calloused and worn from time; But where he was rough and rigid, you were soft and delicate - you were the flower that had grown amongst rubble and coal, and perhaps his greatest sin was picking you.

Arthur Morgan gave into your warmth the way the freezing winters surrender to the sun.


End file.
